


Summer Fever

by dizzzylu



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-01-24
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:35:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dizzzylu/pseuds/dizzzylu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What's a little mutual masturbation among friends?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Summer Fever

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round two of [stop_drop_howl](http://stop_drop_howl.livejournal.com), for the prompt _grass stains_.
> 
> I warn for underage, but I would like to clarify that both boys are underage here, around 12 or 13. I've always wanted to write some pre-series Scott/Stiles, with them messing around and trying to figure things out, and this prompt proved to be the perfect opportunity. I hope you enjoy it! BIG thank you to akadougal for the speedy beta! ♥♥♥

As they approach the end of their seventh grade year, Scott and Stiles make a pact: no more spending the summer lazing around in the shade, playing with their Gameboys or daydreaming about how life will be as the big dogs on campus. This summer is the summer they intend to get serious about lacrosse, so that their transition from eighth to ninth grade -- from peewee lacrosse to the junior varsity team -- is as effortless as possible.

They vow to run two miles every morning, to stop by the playground and use the park's jungle gym to build up their arms and shoulders, to practice with their equipment _every day_ , rain or shine. 

The reality of the situation is a little less enthusiastic.

To be fair, Stiles didn't plan for it to be the hottest summer on record for the state of California. And he does have all that delicate pale skin to take care of.

But on those rare days when the temperature manages to dip below eighty, Stiles has Scott up bright and early; running, eating a square meal, dragging himself back and forth across the monkey bars. 

Stiles does it all, too, though he doesn't quite yet have the shoulder strength Scott does. Then again, Scott has a hard time keeping up with Stiles on their runs, so it all evens out.

At least they're evenly matched when it comes to lacrosse skills. Meaning neither one of them have any, but it's still fun to try, especially after they found an isolated clearing not far from the park, but not too deep into the preserve. It's nowhere near where the older kids go to park and make out, and it's too far into the woods for the little kids to come screaming through, which makes it pretty much the perfect place to practice, according to Stiles.

Of course, this is the first cool-ish day in a few weeks, and the beauty of it distracts both Scott and Stiles enough that they peel off their shirts and throw themselves to the ground, flat on their backs, arms and legs spread wide, while they watch white puffy clouds roll by. They're too old to see anything in the shapes (or at least talk about what they see), but not stupid enough to not appreciate the clear blue sky and the warm sun on their skin.

"This ain't makin' hay," Stiles says eventually, landing a backhanded slap on Scott's chest. Scott curls up like a pill bug, but he's grinning, and bounces up to his feet before Stiles gets there himself.

They start off with the exciting stuff first, one of them playing attackman while the other covers defense. After a while, they switch, so that they both get the chance to play all positions. Midfielder is a little hard to practice, without an actual midfield to be mindful of, but they manage okay by themselves.

It's only in the goalie position that things get boring. Both of them know how to shoot the ball, but neither one of them is very good at defending the goal. More often than not, they pack up for the day without either one of them having saved a goal. It's always good to be versatile, but Stiles is also man enough to concede that he sucks as a goalie and probably won't be trying out for that position any time soon.

Today is no different. At least not for Stiles. Scott feints left and right, zigs when Stiles expects him to zag, throws high when Stiles expects it to go low. Basically, Stiles misses all of Scott's attempts, though one does tip the end of the crosse, which is...well, no. That's not anything. Not even Stiles can make that into something special.

He takes heart in Scott being no better. Stiles isn't as nimble as Scott, with his limbs that want to go every which way all at the same time, but he thinks he does okay for himself. Of course, that's the moment the ball lands in Scott's net. Something even Scott is shocked silent about. Until, suddenly, he explodes with a whoop, jumping off the ground to pump his fist in the air. His crosse hits the ground a second later and then he's gunning for Stiles, arms open wide.

They both hit the grass with an oomph, Stiles' a little louder with Scott's extra weight behind it, but he doesn't care. Scott is laughing and smiling so wide and Stiles can't help but be happy for him. He knows what a major accomplishment it is to stop a goal, and he'd be doing the same thing in Scott's place.

The pride doesn't last long, however, because the last thing Stiles wants is to give Scott a big head, so the hugging and crowing soon turns to grunting and wrestling, both of their sticks abandoned while they roll around in the grass. Stiles goes for the dick move right away, tweaking one of Scott's nipples until he yelps, but Scott gets him back by finding Stiles' super sensitive tickle spot and goes for broke. 

"What's done cannot be undone!" Stiles roars, hands sinking into Scott's ridiculous hair, and he wraps his legs around Scott's waist to roll them, throwing off Scott's sense of direction. With his floppy hair in his face, Scott can't tell which way is up, and Stiles isn't inclined to enlighten him just yet.

Scott figures it out anyway and bucks his hips, which tips Stiles over and his hands flail out. Somehow, Scott manages to grab Stiles' wrists and pull, until he's up on his knees, straddling Stiles' pelvis, and shouts in triumph.

"Pinned you!" Scott declares, chest sweaty and heaving. His wide grin is blinding in the sun and his hair's a mess, but his grip isn't all that tight and Stiles could break it if he wanted to, but he'd have to twist his hips a little to unseat Scott, and that would draw attention to the very interesting party happening in his pants.

Stiles might be twelve (almost thirteen), but he is not an idiot. When he first started waking up to sticky pants, the internet was the first place he hit. Though he did find some things that have probably scarred him for life, he was more than a little relieved to find out that his night emissions are normal. For a kid with a name like Stiles', every little bit of normal is a huge relief.

Though this -- his dick hardening under Scott's warm, familiar weight? Stiles isn't sure if this is entirely normal. And his uncertainty must show on his face.

"You okay, dude?" Scott asks, fingers loosening a little. He leans forward, pressing into Stiles' groin more, and Stiles has to hold back a groan by biting his lip, because _wow_ does that feel really awesome.

"I'm good," Stiles grits out. "You're just heavy, that's all." He gusts out a breath and tries to push himself up a little, away from Scott, without drawing attention to himself. "You've been eating at Della's too much, huh?" His laugh sounds awkward and Scott's smile dims a degree.

"Yeah, I guess." Scott lets go of Stiles' wrists and sits back on his heels, teeth digging at his lower lip. He looks like he wants to say something, with his eyes all screwed up and his jaw clenched. Stiles is grateful for the breathing room, but hates seeing that look on Stiles' face.

"What's up, buddy?" he says, giving Scott a healthy smack on his thigh. Stiles looks down to where his hand feels sticky and notices light smears of blood and heavier grass stains all over Scott's bare knees. At least it's not their shorts this time. Stiles' mom already has enough trouble to deal with, with all her doctors’ visits.

Scott's weight shifts under Stiles' touch, drawing Stiles' gaze up and over, where he spots a very telling bulge in Scott's shorts. Stiles' eyebrows shoot up involuntarily and, a second later, Scott echoes the move with his feet, letting go of Stiles with an abrupt shove. "Sorry, sorry," he mumbles, hunching over on himself.

"Dude, it's cool," Stiles says with a vague wave of his hand. "That's what happens when you're a boy." He says it with more bravado than he feels; he, too, was trying to hide his stiffy not two minutes ago, but mutual hard-ons doesn't seem so bad, once he thinks about it. It cuts his embarrassment by half, at least.

"I know, but still." Scott drops to the ground next to Stiles, leaving about a foot of space between them, and plants his elbows on his knees. It does what it's supposed to -- block Stiles from seeing Scott's woody -- but what surprises Stiles most is how much he _wants_ to see it. He's only ever seen his own, after all, and he wonders how Scott's would be different. It's a science thing, Stiles is pretty sure.

"If it helps, I've got one, too." Stiles waves a hand at his own crotch, and is pleasantly surprised when Scott not only looks, but stares a little. For a few moments, anyway. It makes Stiles' face flush and his dick jump. Scott's eyes widen in return, but he tears them away a second later.

"Dude, c'mon," Stiles says, bumping his shoulder into Scott's. "Don't tell me you've never played with yourself before."

"Well yeah," Scott says, but he deepens his hunch, which is Scott-speak for 'I have no idea what you're talking about, but I don't want you to _know_ I don't know what you're talking about''. "'Course I have. Just--" He side-eyes Stiles and tilts away from his curious gaze. "I've never gotten hard around you. It's weird."

"No it isn't!" Stiles insists, laying one hand on Scott's shoulder. It's an instinctive,comforting move, but Scott doesn't flinch away, which Stiles takes as a good sign. "I read all about this, okay? Look, we're teenage boys, filled with raging hormones. _And_ we were wrestling around all over the ground. It's the perfect recipe for a boner. I swear!"

Scott nods and his expression lightens, but he still seems unsure, and Stiles is surprised to find his hand still on Scott's shoulder, thumb sweeping a small arch through the sweat there. It draws Stiles' attention to Scott's back, the way it's rising and falling, like Scott just went through a dozen suicides. His mouth is open, too, wet and soft-looking, but his eyes are closed, lashes casting thick, dark shadows on his cheeks.

"Hey," Stiles prods, quieter, his thumb stilling. "Did-- do you like it?"

Scott swallows, hard, and gives Stiles a short, curt nod.

"Okay," Stiles breathes out, hand smoothing down Scott's bare back. "Okay." 

"But Stiles, I've never--" Scott bobs his head around, trying to convey what he wants without actually having to say it.

"You've never...done it?" Stiles prompts, and Scott nods again, looking so sad and pitifully young, Stiles almost wants to give him a hug. Sure, he's out of his depth here, unsure what to do. But he tells himself he's with Scott, and if Scott is involved, it will never not be awesome, so he screws up his courage and asks the hard question: "Do you want to watch?"

Scott gasps softly, and he freezes, but doesn't look away. Stiles would take that as an answer, but part of him needs to hear the word, too. 

"Do you?" he asks again, edging closer. The thumb of his free hand toys with the waistband of his shorts, strumming it like a guitar string.

Scott's eyes go wide, then, and he whips his head around. "Here?!" he hisses, suddenly hunched all over himself again, as if he's been watched this whole time.

Stiles laughs out loud, startled into a smile. "Scott, we've been playing out here by ourselves for a month. How many times has anybody come out here?"

"None," Scott says, a little mullish, and straightens up, hand still covering his hard-on.

"Exactly! So, just let me--" Stiles fumbles around on his knees, hand pressing against his dick while he angles his back toward where they usually burst into the clearing. He assumes it's where anybody else would come from, if they were so inclined, and hides the worst of damage.

"There," Stiles pants, shimmying out of his shorts. "Now the worst thing anybody will see is my bare ass. Satisfied?" Scott doesn't look it, really, but Stiles is too preoccupied with palming the wet spot on his underwear to care. "Ready?" he asks, eyes bouncing between his crotch and Scott's face.

Stiles doesn't draw it out; his dick isn't much to look at, yet. Short, and kind of slim, but the skin flushes bright red and the tip gets shiny, so it's all good. And, anyway, Stiles will grow into it, he's sure. He's heard what they say about big hands, after all.

He gasps at the first touch, his fingers warm and rough over sensitive skin. The conversation with Scott had made Stiles flag a little, but his dick is fully hard, now, sliding back and forth within the circle of his fingers.

Stiles has done this at least a dozen times by now, catalogued all the different ways this could go -- how a simple change in speed can back things off immediately, or how his thumb circling the slit sets him off without warning. So he can take his time here, a little bit. Watch Scott's face while Stiles works his cock. It's no big deal, just Scott.

Except Scott is really kind of into it, his gaze hot and heavy, like a physical thing that settles low in Stiles' gut. Stiles doesn't mean to make this a show, but he doesn't want to go off in under five minutes, either, so he plays with his balls a little, too; spits in his hand and rolls them around in his palm. It doesn't really do much for him, but Scott watches like it's a revelation, tongue poking out of his mouth while his hand strokes a broken rhythm over his dick.

"You can take it out," Stiles gasps, hand twisting of it's own volition. He isn't going to lie to himself; he wants to compare dick size with Scott. He thinks it's probably a boy thing, wanting to compare himself with other boys, but doesn't have the courage to ask his mom or dad if that's normal, either.

Scott's slow about getting up on his knees, and only pushes his shorts and underwear down enough to tuck the waistbands underneath his balls. It really highlights his cock, though, dark-skinned and flushed a rosy pink.

"Go ahead," Stiles rasps around a thick swallow. "Touch yourself." His own hand has slowed so that he can give Scott the attention he deserves.

Scott is unsure at first, keeps his hand loose around himself for a few strokes, but then he groans and his fingers convulse, and he moans again, deeper, hips pushing into the movement. Stiles grins as the first pearly bead of precome appears. 

"It's good, isn't it?" Stiles breathes, tipping forward into Scott's space. Scott echoes the movement, free hand reaching out for Stiles' arm. The touch is electric, little sparks of pleasure zinging along Stiles' arm and down to his fingers. His cock throbs in his grip, once, and then he comes, shooting white and sticky all over the his thighs and the grass. Stiles gasps through it, shocked by the rush.

Scott mumbles a surprised sound, jaw dropping open, and he adds his own mess to the mix, jerking himself off in a ragged rhythm. Stiles tries to guide him by example, stroking his own dick in short even movements, but Scott's eyes are squeezed shut and the corners of his mouth twitch, like he's fighting between breath and laughter. It's kind of adorable, in the way that Scott is always adorable, and Stiles finds himself pressing a kiss there, to see if he can taste Scott's happiness. Scott, doesn't seem to mind, at least; sighs out a quiet "oh" and gives Stiles a shy smile.

After that, they collapse onto their sides, dicks limp and over-sensitive. Scott looks like he's glowing, his smile so wide and his nose all scrunched up. His chest is all sweaty still, pumping up and down as Scott drags in great gulps of air and floats down from his high. Stiles knows the feeling well and envies Scott that first time come-down. 

They're both quiet for long minutes, both finally flopping on their backs to stare up at the sky. Stiles reaches up to scratch at his belly and remembers his hand is still a mess. The grass goes a long way in cleaning it off, but he has to use his shorts to get in between his fingers. Good thing he's learned how to do laundry by now.

Stiles feels like he dozes off after awhile, lulled into contentment by his orgasm and the sunshine and the low buzz of summer insects. Scott lies at Stiles' side, a warm, comforting presence that helps Stiles stay still and calm.

Eventually, though, it is Stiles who speaks first, sitting up first on his elbows, then higher, gaze falling automatically to Scott still hanging out of his shorts. "We should get dressed, man. Mom expects me back soon." He rises to his feet with a groan, still sore from Scott tackling him, and pulls his shorts and underwear back on, then offers Scott a hand up after he's done writhing around on the ground in an effort to get his own clothes in place.

Scott looks a little bewildered, still, casting his eyes about for his shirt and his crosse. Stiles huffs a laugh and points him in the right direction. Scott beams at him, wide and honest, and jogs over, tugging the shirt over his messy mop of hair. Stiles doesn't bother pointing out how it's inside-out.

"See you tomorrow?" Scott asks, easy like it always is between them. In that moment, Stiles has never wanted to hug him more, to thank him for being such an awesome bro. 

He settles for a fistbump instead and nods. "What else would we do?"


End file.
